Mullah Abdullah reached up to scratch his
head, and only managed to scratch his turban. “You were to be Shaqur, right?
Isn’t that what we decided?”

Ayoob pulled at his beard in frustration,
but not too hard, in case it came off. “All this time you were telling me I was
Hukmuddin. Now you tell me I’m Shaqur. Make your mind up.”

“Hold on,” Mullah Abdullah said, and
reached for the script. “If you’re going to be Hukmuddin, we’re going to have
to make some changes...”

“If I’m Shaqur,” Ayoob whined, “I’m going
to have to study the part. Why can’t I just be Hukmuddin?”

“Because I’m Hukmuddin,” Gulbuddin said
irritably. He frowned, and everyone fell silent for a moment. Gulbuddin had a
famous frown. People said it could stop a drone in its tracks. “That’s why you
can’t be Hukmuddin. You’re Shaqur.”

“And where is Shaqur?” Hukmuddin asked. “He
isn’t even here.”

“He’s gone with Najib to plant a few IEDs,”
Abdullah explained. “He’ll be back soon.”

“If we’re going to start shooting at all today,”
the cameraman said, “you’d better get a move on.”

“Let’s get the rehearsal over with,” Mullah
Abdullah told him. He looked around the room. “Where are the props? I thought
you were to get us some poppies and a goat, Hukmuddin?”

“I’ve sent Bakhtawar to get them,”
Hukmuddin said. He pointed to a chalk mark on the floor. “If I’m Ayoob, am I to
stand here?”

“Yes, that’s Ayoob’s place. Can you manage
to be Ayoob?”

“Of course,” Hukmuddin said. He adopted an
exaggerated whine. “I’m so tired of
all this. Can’t we just get it over with?”

Ayoob started forward angrily. “I do not talk like that!”

“Of course you do,” Hukmuddin snapped. “We’ve
all been listening to you long enough.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Gulbuddin growled. He
turned to Abdullah. “Tell me again why we can’t all just play ourselves.”

“Because that would be imitating life,”
Abdullah said. “That’s haram. We can’t play ourselves, only each other.”

“Seems like this whole movie will be haram
by the time we get it done,” Gulbuddin muttered. “I thought it was supposed to
make us more appealing to everyone, and at this rate...”

“Don’t worry,” Abdullah said hastily, “Talibanistan will be a great movie. We
can even enter it for the Oscars.”

“What are the Oscars?” Hukmuddin asked
curiously.

“Some award given in Amrika to the movies.
If we can win it we’re made. People all over the world will look at us with new
eyes.” Abdullah looked around. “Where’s Ameera?”

“Here she is,” Gulbuddin said. “Come here,
Ameera, and stand over here next to Ayoob.”

“I won’t let her stand next to me,” Ayoob
said.

“Why ever not?”

“Because I won’t act with a hussy like
that,” Ayoob said. “Naked and all.”

“Naked?”
Gulbuddin roared. “She’s in a burqa, just like all the other women. What are
you talking about?”

“All right,” Abdullah said. “Ameera, you
can go. We’ll put Najib in a burqa. He can play Ameera.”

“And can he imitate Ameera’s voice?”
Gulbuddin asked nastily. “You know as well as I do that Najib has a voice like
a donkey in mating season.”

“How does it matter?” Abdullah asked. “Ameera
doesn’t have any lines of dialogue anyway. I mean,” he said, “we have to put in
a woman to show that we respect both sexes, of course. But just imagine giving her
a speaking part in the film!”

Everyone took a moment to imagine it. Their
beards shook with emotion.

“Wonder what Najib will think of dressing
up in a burqa,” Ayoob said finally. “I’ll enjoy seeing his reaction.”

“Here are your poppies,” Bakhtawar said, entering
with an armful. “Where do you want the goat?”

“Ameera will be standing at the well with
the herd of goats,” Abdullah said. “This pot can be the well. You’ve got to
imagine Ameera, since she isn’t here, and you’ll have to imagine the goat is
beside her. Right, now you’ve got to abduct her.”

“How do I abduct her?” Bakhtawar asked.

“I don’t know. How do you abduct women? Point
an AK at her or something.”

“Make sure the safety is on first,” Ayoob
said. “I’ve not forgotten how you almost shot my turban off the other day.”

“It was only an accident,” Bakhtawar
muttered. He brandished his AK in the air. “It’s safe, see –“

Everyone ducked as the burst he’d fired
splintered the windows.

“I was sure that the safety was on this time,” Bakhtawar said, looking at
the AK as though he’d never seen it before.

“Take his gun away from him before he
murders someone,” Gulbuddin said.

“Yes, I think that’s better. Bakhtawar, you
put down that gun. Wrestle Ameera down and abduct her.”

“He’ll have a hard time abducting Ameera
that way,” Hukmuddin observed. “She’s twice his size. Even Najib is twice his
size.”

“You keep out of this!” Abdullah strode
angrily towards the bunch of poppies. “All right. I’ll play the enemy when we do the final shoot. Let’s
start over. Ayoob – I mean, Shaqur, you run and warn Ayoob – that’s you, Hukmuddin
– that the enemy is coming. Go!”

Ayoob strode across the floor to Hukmuddin.
“Ayoob,” he said, “the enemy is coming across the poppy field, and he’s
abducted one of our dear sisters.”

“What?”
Hukmuddin screamed in a falsetto so exaggerated that he began coughing
uncontrollably. “This is...sacrilege,” he sputtered at length. “The enemy will
destroy our women and defile our farmer’s poppies!”

“I think you’ve got it the other way round.”

“What difference does it make?” Hukmuddin
glared at Abdullah. “What do I say next, anyway?”

“You and your shifting around people’s
roles,” Ayoob said. “We’ve all lost track of what we’re supposed to be saying.”

[Note to readers: This state is currently suffering from nine to twelve hours of power cuts every day, which means I am finding it hard to work, let alone write. This means I may be a bit irregular for the time being.]